Love Comes To Those Who Wait
by kkk781
Summary: Modern Day. What happens when the descendents of Erik and Christine meet? Are they flung into the world of fantasy and make believe that their ancestors were, or are they destined to right the wrongs of their predecessor's pasts? Please review!
1. Prologue

"**_Love Comes To Those Who Wait_"**

**By Nabira

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**

**PROLOGUE**

"GO NOW AND leave me!"

The words rung in Christine Daae's ears as she and Raoul rushed through the darkness. Her feet hurt as the cobblestones dug into them. She wore no shoes – they weren't a part of her costume as the gypsy, Aminta, and she had not bothered to don a pair when she had changed into the wedding dress she now wore. But she could not stop running, no matter the pain. Her angel had said that they were not allowed to be found and she couldn't disobey him again.

Christine was getting tired. Her hand was still in Raoul's grip and as she began to lag behind, Raoul's tugging on her arm made her stumble.

Raoul whipped around quickly, thinking that Christine had been pulled by someone from behind. Looking at the girl, though, he realised she was a frightful mess. Her long, dark curls were scraggly around her face and the bottom of her dress was torn. And as she gasped in air, Raoul began to feel slightly guilty. It was not fair of him to make her run so far in a tight corset. Raoul hugged Christine quickly and lifted her into his arms.

Raoul knew there was not far to go. He had to get to his brother's stables – once there, he would be able to get a horse and carriage, let Philippe know what he had done and disappear with Christine for a while. It was the only way they wouldn't get caught.

Fifteen minutes later, Raoul crept into the stables, still holding Christine in his arms. He knew exactly which horses to take – the two geldings _were_ his, after all, he wouldn't get in trouble for taking him. He scribbled a quick note to Philippe, hitched up the horse and opened the door of the carriage for Christine.

Raoul scrambled into the driver's seat and picked up the reins. With a quick flick, he set the coach into motion, leaving behind both of their pasts.

-♥-

IT FELT GOOD to be home. No matter how much Christine loved Paris and the Opera House; Sweden would always be her home.

In the small village not far out of Uppsala, Christine and Raoul married one cold April morning. The marriage brought closure for Christine, but also a great deal of grief. Suddenly, a part of her life that she had loved and cherished was gone. There was no more Angel of Music to guide her – she was now Madame de Chagny, the Vicomtess.

Christine could not help wondering, on the day that was supposed to be the happiest day of her life, what the masked man beneath the Opera was up to.

-♥-

"JUST ONE MORE push, Madame de Chagny!" came the midwife's boisterous commands.

Christine did so, her body beginning to tire with the strain of childbirth. It was three years since her marriage to Raoul – three years of trying to start a family and failed pregnancies – and she was finally giving birth to a child carried to full term.

The babe's shrill cry filled the room and Christine breathed a sigh of relief. She had been afraid – she didn't want another dead child in her arms.

"It's a boy, Madame!" the midwife cried joyously and Christine reached out for her son.

She and Raoul had spent much time deciding on names and they had both decided that they wanted a name that could not remind them of the past. So, on that day, Adrien Patrice de Chagny was born; a strong, healthy baby.

Christine and Raoul came to delight in their young son. Christine felt that there was never a more perfect baby. His straight, chocolate brown hair and bright blue eyes made him a striking child and Christine knew that when he was older, he was going to break some hearts.

Raoul tried to be careful about any more children, given Christine's track record. They had their son; at least they were now a family. But when Christine fell pregnant once again when Adrien was two years old, Raoul could not be happier.

Elise Colette de Chagny was born in the midnight hours some nine months later. As Christine held the sleeping girl in her arms and her three year old son stood by her bed, she could not help thinking – what sort of family would she have if she had stayed with her angel?

-♥-

CHRISTINE'S ANGEL OF Music was a bitter man in the winter of 1886 when Elise was born. He could still not believe that he had let Christine go, yet six years had passed. He no longer lived beneath the Opera House – it was not safe anymore. He now lived in a small cottage on the outskirts of Paris. No one bothered him and he liked it that way. He was surrounded by music and art and could not be happier – unless he was with Christine, of course. He kept the engagement ring that she had returned to him in a small box and a day was not complete unless he had looked at the gold band with its diamonds on top.

Erik did not realise that a knock at the door could change his life forever.

Erik was having trouble forgiving this person for the impertinence of knocking on _his_ door and it was all he could do to keep himself from Punjabing them on the spot. But he managed to calm his temper and opened the door to find a girl with long, chocolate brown curls staring back at him.

_Christine…_

Erik blinked and realised that the girl staring at him was not Christine Daae, but rather, a girl that looked very much like her. She was slightly taller, with blue eyes and a complexion that was slightly more golden. She looked very dishevelled, however.

"What can I do for you, Mademoiselle?" Erik asked, summoning his best manners.

"Forgive me for, intruding," the girl replied, worry showing on her face. "I am being accused of doing something I didn't do and the _Gendarmerie_ are chasing me. I was wondering if it would be possible to hide here. No one ever comes up this way."

Erik looked at the girl, understanding her plight. "Come in," he said, holding the door open for her.

-♥-

IT WAS HARD to believe, but Erik grew to enjoy Nadine Cuvier's company. And she also enjoyed his. She fell hopelessly in love with her masked saviour and Erik, who could not face loneliness anymore, married her a few years later, taking her name as his.

A year later, their son, William Fabien Cuvier was born. Erik's relief was immense that he had not passed his dreadful deformity onto his son. He delighted in the boy, teaching him all he could about music. To his great pleasure, William loved singing and composing as much as he did and Nadine watched as her two favourite people played for her.

While Erik was happy and he delighted in Nadine's company, he could not help yearning for the other brunette girl he had known. Christine was still his heart's desire.

-♥-

CHRISTINE DE CHAGNY held the eight year old's hand as she looked up at the mighty Opera House. It had been a big decision for her and Raoul to bring their family back to Paris, but fourteen years had passed and they knew that it would be hard for them to be linked to the Phantom of the Opera now.

Adrien was now eleven years old and starting to show the unmistakeable musical talent that Christine had many years before. He amazed his mother with his skills on the violin and Christine could tell that he would one day take after her in voice as well. Elise, on the other hand, was not musically inclined in the slightest. The girl was more interested in reading and business – she took after Raoul in many ways. Christine knew that she was going to be beautiful. Her hair, while curly like Christine's, was very blonde and made her look like an angel. She, like Adrien, had Raoul's bright blue eyes, but other than that she looked very much like Christine.

Christine fully intended on visiting the Opera soon, something that Raoul was not very happy about. There was no magnificent Opera House in Uppsala – the closest she had come to singing when she was there were hymns at church. And she knew that Adrien would enjoy it. But Christine knew that Raoul worried about her bumping into a certain masked man.

Christine sighed. But she knew where Raoul was coming from. Who could say she wouldn't enjoy such a meeting?

-♥-

ERIK WAS SLIGHTLY nervous about the coming trip into Paris. He had not been there since he had left the Opera House fourteen years beforehand. Indeed, he had hardly left the cottage that he lived in with Nadine and William since he had moved there. But Nadine had to go to the city and she could not bear to part with her family for the week that she would be there. So Erik, very grudgingly, had agreed to accompany her.

There was one thing that Erik was rather looking forward to, however, and that was a visit to the Opera House that had once been his home. He had told his five year old son many stories about the Opera House and the people that had lived there, leaving out his own exciting part in the tales. Oh, William did know of the legendary Phantom of the Opera, but only the stories that had been told by the ballet girls. Those stories had always had a great deal of imagination in them and it pleased Erik that his son delighted in the world of make-believe.

One thing that Nadine was quite looking forward to was the masquerade ball that heralded the start of the new opera season. Erik was not so sure. He could still remember the last masquerade ball that he went to, where he had unleashed his masterpiece, _Don Juan Triumphant_ onto the Opera community. But he knew that this masquerade would certainly not be as eventful. Nadine would be there with him and everyone would be masked. There was certainly no way he would bump into anyone he would know and if he did, they would not recognise him.

-♥-

CHRISTINE LAUGHED AT the various complaints sent her way by her children, most of all Adrien. She and Raoul were going to the masquerade ball and neither of the children would accept that they were too young to attend. It made her remember when she was their age. The Opera House had always put on great parties and balls and as a young child training to become a ballerina, she was not allowed to attend either. But she was a woman of thirty-two now, fully grown, and she was allowed to do as she pleased. And besides, both children would be attending the opening night of the next season the following night. _Falstaff_ by Giuseppe Verdi was a brand new opera and the Garnier was thrilled to be performing it as a part of the new season.

Christine was very excited about the new Verdi opera and she knew that Adrien was too. She had performed his opera _Aida _while she had been singing at the Opera House and had enjoyed it immensely.

But tonight, it was the masquerade that she would be attending. As Christine put on her white mask, she remembered the last masquerade ball she had attended, a long fourteen years before.

-♥-

ERIK WALKED THROUGH the doors of the Opera Populaire, Nadine holding onto his arm as though she was afraid he might run off. In all honesty, he really wanted to do just that. But as he walked into the ball room, a great feeling of relief swept over him. The Opera House would always be his home. He had lived there for most of his life and he had not realised how much he had missed it.

It was not long before Erik was asking Nadine to dance and as they danced he managed to avoid thinking about his past life and what he had lost. He knew he was being greedy, he had his lovely son and a wife that loved him, but he couldn't help it.

A laugh invaded his senses.

Erik would know that laugh until the day he died. The sweet tinkling of it was enough to send shivers down his spine. And the voice that accompanied it – he could never forget that voice.

At the end of the dance, Nadine left him, stating that she had seen someone that she needed to talk to. And this gave Erik a chance to speak to the girl he had obsessed over and loved when he had never loved before.

-♥-

CHRISTINE COULD FEEL the tingling up her neck that often comes when you get the feeling that someone is watching you. With a quick squeeze of Raoul's hand, she left him and his business partner, stating that she needed some fresh air.

As Christine skirted her way around the dance floor, she found that she was indeed being followed. A man in a black suit and tails was dogging her, but Christine did not feel scared. He seemed oddly familiar.

Christine moved outside into the Opera House courtyard. Sitting on the edge of the fountain she ran her hands through the water for old time's sake. As she relived her memories of the time that she had spent at the Opera House, she caught herself smiling. She was not as naïve as she had once been and she knew that there was no memory that she could count as horrendous.

"_Christine._"

Christine straightened with a start. There was no way he could still be here, no way at all. She knew there had been no sightings of the Opera Ghost since she had left. Thinking it must be her imagination, she went back to her musings

"_Christine…_"

Christine knew it was not her imagination this time. She jumped up and spun around, catching sight of the man that she had seen following her. He stood on the other side of the fountain, watching her with guarded interest. As soon as she saw him though, she knew who he was. There was something about the way he stood with all his pride and majesty that would always play on Christine's mind and even with the black _Don Juan_ type mask, Christine would always recognise him.

Taking a step around the fountain, Christine whispered, "Angel, is that you?"

Erik could not believe that Christine still didn't know his name. "No, my dear," he said in reply. "I am no angel, my name is Erik."

If Christine still had a glimmer of doubt in her mind, it was gone the moment she heard him speak. With a small cry of joy, Christine ran around the fountain and hugged Erik, stepping back a moment later with happiness on her face.

"I can't believe how much I've missed you," Christine said, smiling.

A small feeling of hope gathered in Erik's stomach until, with crashing realism, he noticed the wedding band on Christine's finger and remembered that he, too, was married.

"What have you been up to, Christine?" Erik asked, genuinely interested in what the girl was doing with her life.

Christine smiled. "I travelled back to Sweden with Raoul after we left you and found ourselves living in a small village outside of Uppsala. We married in the village church and spent the next three years trying to start a family." A tear rolled down Christine's cheek as she remembered the three miscarriages and the stillborn daughter that she had delivered. "But finally we were blessed with our lovely Adrien." Christine smiled, remembering the joy of finally having a baby in her arms. Erik also smiled, sharing in her memory.

"How old is he now?" he asked Christine.

"Eleven," she replied happily. "I have a daughter, Elise, too. She's now eight years old. Not musical, unlike Adrien, but she's still perfect."

Erik smiled. He could tell Christine was a wonderful mother.

"We moved back to Paris two months ago," she continued. "Adrien is really looking forward to seeing the opera tomorrow evening. He's a brilliant violinist and he has a good, strong voice." Christine smiled a proud mother smile. "I must say, I'm really looking forward to hearing Verdi as well."

Erik grinned. "Yes, I've heard that _Falstaff_ is nearly as good as _Aida_."

Christine smiled. "Nothing can beat _Aida_," she replied, smiling cheekily. Christine looked at Erik curiously. "What have you been up to?" she asked.

"I moved from the Opera House after you left," he said, reminiscing. "It was unsafe, what with the construction and the constant searches for the Opera Ghost. I moved to a small cottage outside of Paris and stayed there for six years, revelling in my solitude."

Christine looked at him, almost shocked. He sounded so happy though!

"A knock on the door changed my life," he said with a soft smile. "A young lady stood there, clearly in trouble. She was on the run – she had been falsely accused of the murder of her younger sister, which she was later acquitted of. But something about her invoked such strong feelings of empathy for her and I decided to help her."

Christine smiled. This girl sounded like she had undergone some hard times just like Erik had.

"Well, after she was acquitted, I was very worried. I had grown to enjoy her company and I didn't want to be lonely again. I think she enjoyed my company too. So we married and I took her name. We have a son, William, who is five now."

Christine smiled. She knew that something good had to happen to a man like Erik. "It sounds like you love her, Erik."

Erik smiled. "I don't know if love is the correct word," he said, speaking the truth. "I love her, yes, but more like you love a very dear friend. But, she gave me my son, my perfect son who already sings like an angel and I know that I could never survive without her companionship."

Christine smiled. "It was so nice seeing you again, Erik," she said, embracing him tightly.

Erik smiled. "Yes, it was nice seeing you too, Christine," he replied. "Now, I must go and find Nadine. She will be wondering where I've gotten to."

Christine smiled. "Yes, Raoul will be wondering the same."

And with one final look, they parted, not realising that they would never see each other again.

-♥-

CHRISTINE LAY IN her bed, the anxious faces of her family all around her. Everything hurt – it even hurt to breathe – and she knew she would not be in the world of the living for very much longer.

A strange thought surfaced in her head. Wherever she was going – would Erik be there? It had been over twenty years since she had last seen him. Somehow, the faint burnings of longing were still with her.

Once again, Christine looked at the faces of her family. Her two children were grown up and they had their own children – Pierre, Genevieve and Henri. All five of them and their respective spouses, Claudette and Étienne, were gathered around her bed now. And Raoul – his tired face radiated none of the youth that he had once shown. It had been a tough life for him but he had never once complained, always giving Christine his unconditional love, even as she lay dying of the cancer that wracked her body. Christine knew she did not deserve him.

Christine struggled to take a breath and she knew her time was up. With a soft smile to Raoul, she closed her eyes, never to open them again.

-♥-

THE DEATH NOTICE in the paper came as a shock. _Vicomtess Christine de Chagny died peacefully after a long battle with cancer, surrounded by her family_.

It was hard for Erik to believe that his beloved angel was gone. Even harder for him to believe was that he had missed her funeral. She had died some months ago and Erik had come across the notice after catching up on what had happened in Paris.

It was ironic, really. The saddest thing that he could imagine had happened at one of the happiest moments of his life.

Erik had been in Vienna for the past three months, attending the wedding of his only son William to the very lovely Cecilia. And he and Nadine had decided to stay for a while. But now, he had to visit her grave and pay his last respects.

It was hard to find a rose in the winter, but find one he did. He tied it with a black ribbon for old times sake and attached the one thing he felt should be returned to Christine.

The portrait on Christine's grave stone showed how much she had changed. She was obviously in her prime there, but she was older than the girl Erik had once known.

Erik's grief hit him suddenly and he placed the rose on the grave. It did not do to dwell on the past and he did not turn back as he left the cemetery.

As Erik left, the sun began to shine, catching the diamond ring on the stem of the rose in its light.

**

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**Author's Note:**

Any complaints about length of chapters… you'd have to be sadistic!

This chapter, or prologue, rather, is already 3574 words long and I promise with all of my heart that the rest of the chapters are long too. I think this one is the longest, but we shall see!

I once again apologise about leaving _Behind the Façade_ and _Song of My Heart_ unattended for so long. This story has entrenched itself in my head and won't leave, so I've had to write it. Plus, I'm slightly stuck on ideas, especially for _Behind the Façade_. If you have any ideas on where it could go, please, _please_ feel free to e-mail me. My e-mail is in my profile.

I have a very soft spot for this story. The idea is older than the idea for _Man of the Future_, but I hadn't decided to write it until now. There are ideas running around my head at the moment.

Oh, I was going to wait until I had some more chapters written, but bad luck comes in threes. Today, I have already had to have a brush cut out of my hair and a saxophone case smash into my kneecap, so I don't think I could bear losing this as well!

Anyway, until next time.

Caitlin.


	2. Chapter 1

"**_Love Comes To Those Who Wait_"**

**By Nabira

* * *

**

**CHAPTER 1**

ISABELLA DE CHAGNY'S eyes widened in amazement as she stood inside the entrance hall of the great Opera Garnier. The Opera House's beauty was apparent everywhere she looked and she caught herself thinking that the man who had created this must have been a genius.

Isabella had never been to France before. Her grandfather, Jacques de Chagny, had hated the country of his birth and had moved to England in his early twenties after World War Two. Once there, he had met Isabella's grandmother, Johanna, who he had married and Isabella's father and Aunty Georgette were born.

Isabella's father Olivier had also never liked France much and had therefore kept Isabella and her older brother, Claude, from visiting the country. But now, at eighteen, Isabella was old enough to make her own choices and when the opportunity to visit France arose, she grabbed it with all of her might.

Musical talent seemed to run in the de Chagny family. As a young child, Isabella had listened to the stories about her grandfather, great-grandfather and great-great-grandfather. All were musical. There was a violinist, a pianist and a trumpeter and they all had stories surrounding them. But Isabella's favourite story was about her great-great-great-grandmother. Christine de Chagny had been a singer and had been the only one of the de Chagny's to perform at the Paris Opera House. But the stories about Christine weren't just about her triumph on the stage. Rather, they were much darker and had been hidden by her family for generations.

Isabella would never forget the day she had come across Christine de Chagny's diary in the attic in their English manor. She was twelve years old at the time and had been looking for the sheet music that she knew her grandfather had stored up there. After spending half the day going through the dusty boxes without much luck, Isabella, who had been about to give up, had spied the leather bound book in a box.

Straight away, Isabella knew that the book was hiding something important and had made it her resolution to find out what the book said. But there was a slight problem. The diary was locked.

If Isabella had been of weaker resolve, she would have given up there and then. But she was not one to quit. After much trying and deliberation, she managed to pick the tiny lock a few days later and was finally able to read the secrets.

The contents of the diary truly shocked Isabella. As she read the French words within the pages, she began to believe there was something truly wrong with Christine de Chagny. The diary had been started when Christine Daae was eight years old. The young girl was dreadfully mourning the loss of her father and would cry for him and the Angel of Music that he had promised her everyday. As she began to give up hope, however, the unthinkable happened.

Christine Daae was visited by the Angel of Music.

It was at this stage that Isabella felt the need to throw away the diary and never read it again. She had been told such wonderful stories about her ancestor and she was not allowed to be mad! But Isabella was drawn to the diary and unable to put it down. She knew that she had to be the one in the family to finally know the truth. And so Isabella continued reading the diary.

Christine's Angel of Music taught her vocal skills until she was good enough to become a leading singer at the Opera House. And it was after her debut as a competitor to the current Prima Donna that Christine learned the truth about her Angel of Music.

He was no Angel of Music. He was a man, a man who had become the Phantom of the Opera.

But Christine was drawn to him. She knew that she loved him, but something happened that made Christine reconsider her choices.

An old childhood friend turned up. A man who Christine ended up marrying.

Raoul de Chagny.

In her diary, Christine spoke of her fear of the man, whose name she did not even know, after he had killed a stagehand and after he had threatened the staff at the masquerade ball. And about how she was drawn to dear, _safe_ Raoul. But a lack of entries had stopped Isabella from finding out anymore. There was only one more entry in the diary, dated thirteen years after the last.

_I saw Erik today and he is happy. He has a family, as do I, but I still can't help thinking about how different it would have been if I had chosen more wisely_.

Isabella knew in her heart that Erik was the Phantom of the Opera. And she knew that Christine had regretted marrying Raoul. She was not stupid. She could read between the lines.

Since reading Christine's diary, Isabella had really wanted to visit the Opera House that had shaped Christine Daae into who she was. And Isabella had gotten that chance.

Isabella had carried on the family tradition of music. She had loved music her entire life and it had always been her dream to perform. But Isabella did not sing like Christine Daae did. In fact, while her voice wasn't bad, she had never really enjoyed singing. Isabella was a flautist, quite a good one in fact, and she loved the feeling and emotion that she could portray through the instrument. It was this musicality that had gotten her noticed by the Royal College of Music and, in turn, the Paris Opera House.

The letter from the manager, Monsieur Noverre, of the Opera House had been quite unexpected for Isabella. She had been ready to start a degree in business that year and had decided, in a spur of the moment decision, to defer her studies and visit France. And so, here she was now, at the Opera Garnier, still not knowing why she had been written to.

Isabella was quite nervous as she walked to the concierge desk. The woman there seemed to have eyes that cut straight through you and it made Isabella quite tense. Hugging the instrument's case to her body she stopped in front of the desk.

"Yes?" the unfriendly woman asked. Her name tag read "Margaret".

"I have an appointment with Monsieur Noverre," Isabella said anxiously in perfect French. Her father had made sure that both his children could speak the language of their ancestors.

The woman looked at Isabella critically, as if she was making it up. "Name?" she asked quite rudely.

"Isabella de Chagny," she replied, her tone changing slightly as she tried to counteract the disrespect.

Margaret turned away from her and began to shuffle through some papers. Isabella frowned, her chocolate brows moving downwards. The nerve of some people!

After what seemed like an eternity but was probably only a few minutes, the woman turned around again. "That seems to be in order," she said. "If you'll just move through there and take a seat, Monsieur Noverre will be with you soon."

Isabella smiled falsely, muttering her thanks and moved into the hall where Monsieur Noverre's office was. She did not have to wait long. Five minutes later, a man burst into the hall, a great smile on his face. "Mademoiselle de Chagny, it _is_ a pleasure!"

Isabella liked the man straight away. He was about the same height as she was, with a balding head and he was slightly chubby around the middle. But he was full of life and Isabella knew that he must make a fine manager.

Isabella took the seat that he offered in his office and after offering tea, coffee and soft drink, all of which Isabella turned down, Monsieur Noverre finally settled as well.

"Well, I suppose you're wondering why I have asked you here, Mademoiselle de Chagny," Noverre said, a slight smile on his face.

Isabella smiled. "Yes," she replied. "It is all very mysterious at the moment."

Noverre's face split into a wide grin. "I can understand that, Mademoiselle, I truly can," he said, his excitement beginning to wear off on Isabella. "We are running a showcase of Europe's finest youth musicians throughout the opera season. It involves musicians of all the orchestra instruments and each night a different musician will be showcased."

Noverre looked at Isabella, seeing if she was catching on. Isabella had a thoughtful look on her face and Noverre knew that she understood.

"The other youth musicians will accompany the showcased musician. The indenture will last for a year." Noverre smiled and added suddenly, "That's why you're here Mademoiselle. You have been chosen as our flautist for the showcase."

Isabella's jaw dropped. "You want _me_?" she asked incredulously.

Noverre's face split into a grin once again. "Of course, Mademoiselle!" he said laughing. "And you won't go unrewarded!" Noverre handed Isabella a piece of paper.

As Isabella took the piece of paper, her eyes widened in shock. This was how much she would be being paid for a year working at the Opera House. And it more than she could ever have imagined.

"Would you please consider, Mademoiselle de Chagny?" Noverre asked, his face hopeful.

Isabella did not have to be asked twice. "Of course," she said happily. "This is my dream come true!"

Noverre laughed youthfully. "Thank you, Mademoiselle!" he said, his attitude once again very excited. "You will not regret working for us!" Noverre stood up and shook Isabella's hand and then added, "Would you like to meet the rest of the performers?"

Isabella nodded. She had not realised that they would all be at the Opera House too. Noverre seemed to realise her thoughts and said, "Oh, you will be living at the Opera House for the year. Is that okay?"

Isabella thought it was more than okay. It meant that she did not have to find somewhere to board and she knew that rent was expensive in Paris. With a quick nod of assent, Isabella followed Monsieur Noverre to the artist's quarters.

It was very dark around the artist's dormitories with very little natural light, but Isabella did not care. Rather, she thought it was very beautiful. It reminded her of old-fashioned movies and she had always dreamed of growing up in those times.

Noverre had stopped in front of a door to one of the dormitories and knocked on the door three times. A few seconds later, a young lady with blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes peaked out. Seeing Noverre, her face lit up and she opened the door fully.

"Monsieur Noverre!" she said merrily. "To what do I have the pleasure?"

Noverre laughed and beckoned for Isabella to join him. "Amalie, this is Isabella de Chagny and she is joining us for the showcase." Noverre smiled, pulling Isabella slightly closer. "Mademoiselle de Chagny, this is Amalie Guise, another fellow performer in the showcase."

"Very pleased to meet you, Isabella!" Amalie said, extending her hand. Isabella took it and Amalie continued, "What instrument are you playing in the showcase?"

Isabella smiled. "Flute," she replied looking at Amalie curiously. "What about you?"

Amalie smiled in return. "I play the cello," she said excitedly. "I am so excited about all of this!"

Noverre smiled. "It's good to hear that, Amalie," he said happily. "But, we must be off to meet the other performers."

Amalie smiled, waving as they left.

Isabella was very excited about the opportunity she had received. And meeting the other performers had made her even more excited. They all seemed like a great bunch of people and all very excited to be there.

Later that evening, Isabella went back to her hotel for the last time. The next day she would be checking out and going to live at the Opera Garnier.

As Isabella climbed into bed, she smiled at the day's events. But the excitement had caught up with her and she was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

-♥-

THE NEXT MORNING was straight into business for Isabella. There was the move to the Opera House to contend with but Isabella had not realised that they would be working on the showcase so soon. And there was also another shock to contend with – out of fifteen performers, Isabella would be doing the third performance.

So at noon that day, Isabella knocked on the door of the composer who would be working on all of the pieces played for the season-long showcase. She knew nothing about him, other than the fact that he, too, had been chosen as an exceptional youth musician. So, it was with some trepidation that Isabella approached the office where he was working. In all honesty, it was slightly daunting being around all of these exceptional musicians. She had never imagined in all of her wildest dreams that she would be considered as one of them.

Isabella had only tapped on the door once when it flew open. Standing in the doorway was a man with short black hair and unusual golden eyes that made Isabella catch her breath.

"Uh," Isabella stuttered slightly, her voice unusually weak. "My name is Isabella de Chagny – I was sent to see you."

The man looked at Isabella curiously. Suddenly, realisation dawned on him. "You're the flautist from the showcase, aren't you?" he asked, looking at Isabella pointedly. At Isabella's nod, he stepped back, holding the door open for her. "Come in," he directed, gesturing to a chair at the desk.

Isabella took the seat, still shaking slightly. She did not know why she was so nervous but it was most definitely unlike her.

The man sat down at the opposite side of the desk shuffling some papers as he did so. "My name is Philippe Cuvier," he said, introducing himself. "I've been appointed to the role of composer and arranger for the showcase." Philippe smiled as he looked at Isabella. "I'm not sure if you know, but all of the musicians involved in the showcase will be playing as a part of the orchestra to help accompany their fellow performers and each performance will begin and end with an orchestral suite." Philippe stood up, moving toward a filing cabinet. He took out a folder and handed it to Isabella. As Isabella flipped through the folder of music, Philippe explained. "These are the accompaniments for the music that we have already chosen. You will find some of it easy and boring, I am sure, but they are accompaniments after all."

Isabella smiled. "Thank you," she said, placing the folder in her bag.

Philippe looked at Isabella. "You're welcome," he said. Moving another piece of paper on the desk, he asked, "Did you bring your flute with you? I'd like to hear what you can do."

Isabella swallowed and nodded. She had not expected to need to play for him, but she had brought her flute along just in case. Philippe seemed to notice her slight discomfort.

"You don't need to play anything too hard," he said, looking at her. "Just something you know really well so that I can assess your strengths and weaknesses."

Isabella nodded as she took out her flute and lovingly put it together. She always found playing her music to be a joy and just the simple act of pulling her flute apart and cleaning it was filled with the utmost tenderness.

Isabella warmed up quickly and tuned. She knew exactly the piece to play – it was easy, but it sounded challenging enough to impress Monsieur Cuvier.

Isabella put the flute to her mouth and began to play. Her fingers ran light lightning and the staccato phrases lit up Bach's _Badinerie_ from _Sonata in B Minor_. As the piece drew to a close, Isabella knew she had played well.

Philippe nodded. "Thank you, Mademoiselle de Chagny. I will be able to find some suitable pieces from that demonstration." Philippe watched as the girl packed away the instrument with loving care.

Philippe showed Isabella from the room, shutting the door behind her. As soon as the girl was out of the room, Philippe collapsed into the couch on the other side of the room. His nerves were on end and he knew he was shaking.

The girl, Isabella de Chagny, had seemed a fragile flower ready to wilt at a simple touch. Her shoulder-length chocolate brown curls and her brown eyes gave her that feeling of innocence and she had looked so nervous, so unsure of herself – until she had brought the instrument to her mouth and begun to play.

The quality of the sound that had come from that instrument had been amazing. Philippe knew the piece was not hard for a musician of Isabella's calibre, but he had still heard it massacred many times by many good performers. But her playing and the obvious love that she had for the instrument made the piece come to life.

Philippe sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He had agreed to compose for the showcase as he searched for his family history. He had become stuck with one, final clue – the Opera Garnier. But as of that moment, Philippe had still not been able to learn the rest of the mystery – or had he?

Philippe ran to the filing cabinet quickly, searching through the files until he found the newspaper clipping he had been looking for.

_Vicomtess Christine de Chagny died peacefully after a long battle with cancer, surrounded by her family_.

Perhaps the answer was sitting right beneath his nose, after all.

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**Author's note:**

Don't expect daily updates – each of these chapters takes me far too long to write! The only reason you get a daily one today is because I thought you needed to know what the story is really about.

Yes, another flute player. I apologise, but flute is the easiest instrument for me to write about, flute being my primary instrument.

Funnily enough, a friend of the family just had a baby girl that they named Isabella. I had decided on my character's name a little while ago, so it was quite funny to hear that their daughter was called Isabella.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy and PLEASE review!

Cate.


	3. Chapter 2

"**_Love Comes To Those Who Wait_"**

**By Nabira**

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**CHAPTER 2**

ISABELLA HAD NEVER imagined that there would be so much work that would go into a showcase. There were rehearsals, visits to the costume designer and sound checks and three days after her first visit, Isabella was once again knocking on the door to Philippe Cuvier's office. Like the first time, the door swung open after she had only knocked once. But this time, Isabella was ready for the sight that was Philippe.

After a bit of gentle probing around the Opera House, Isabella had learnt quite a bit about Philippe. He was twenty-four years old, six years older than Isabella, and, as well as being a composer, he was a splendid piano player. Isabella had also learnt that he was a French native and an only child who was searching for his family tree, which was what had led him to the Opera House.

Philippe smiled at Isabella as she walked into his office. "Hello, Mademoiselle de Chagny, I hope you are well," he said in a friendly tone. Isabella smiled with pleasure.

"Please, Monsieur Cuvier, it's Isabella," she said politely. She was not used to anyone calling her 'Mademoiselle de Chagny' and she had had enough of it since she had arrived in France.

Philippe smiled. "Then I must extend the same invitation to you," he said warmly. "Please, call me Philippe."

Isabella smiled happily. "Certainly," she replied, sitting in the seat at Philippe's desk.

Philippe sat at the other side and picked up a piece of paper. "Now, to business," he said, looking pointedly at Isabella. "Have you given much thought to what you would like to play in the showcase?"

Isabella had been thinking about pieces since she had left Philippe's office the other day. "I was thinking about Faure's _Sicilienne_," she started, until she was interrupted by Philippe.

"No!" he said, causing Isabella to jump slightly. "It's too generic." Philippe picked up his piece of paper once again. "You need something that is going to showcase your talent." Philippe smiled evilly. "Have you heard of Mozart's _Concerto Number 1 in G Major_?"

Isabella looked at him, partly shocked. "The Concerto is one of the hardest pieces in the flute repertoire," she said almost speechless.

Philippe grinned. "Exactly," he said. "It will prove that you're not just another flute player." He placed a tick next to the title of the piece on his paper. "Only the first movement of course though, otherwise it's too long." Philippe looked at the paper once again. "Next, I think you should do Debussy's _Arabesque_ and Massenet's _Meditation de Thais_."

Isabella nodded. "They're both beautiful pieces," she said, agreeing with his choices.

Philippe nodded. "We need to have about two hours of music," he said, "give or take ten or so minutes. Each half is about an hour in length."

Isabella nodded. "Well, then, what about Genin's _Variations on Carnival of Venice_?"

Philippe smiled. "Now you're talking," he said, adding that to his list. "We need to talk about orchestral numbers too," he said, reminding Isabella that there would be a few pieces where she would not be playing. "I was thinking about _The Moldau_ for an opening piece."

Isabella understood why. _The Moldau_ opened with a flute solo that reminded Isabella of water flowing. "It's a bit long, though, isn't it?" she asked, remembering that the entire piece went for over ten minutes.

Philippe nodded. "We'll need to cut it back a bit," he said, knowing full well that audience attention would not be held by pieces of over seven minutes in length.

An hour later, Isabella had her program organised and Philippe was ready to start arranging pieces for the orchestra.

"I'll let you know when I have music available for you," Philippe said, ushering Isabella out the door. "We've got two months before the first concert, and you're the third performance of the season, one concert a week." Philippe smiled. "So, we've got nearly three months, thankfully."

Isabella smiled. She knew Philippe had his work cut out for him, organising two hours of music for fifteen performers each, no piece allowed to be the same.

"So, I'll see you next time, Isabella," Philippe said, shaking her hand.

Isabella smiled. "See you, Philippe," she said, walking away as he closed the door.

Once again, when Isabella left, Philippe's nerves were on end. He moved over to the cupboard in the room and after taking out a bottle, he poured himself a brandy, downing it in one shot.

Philippe knew it was unwise of him, but most of his effort since he had met Isabella had gone into the pieces she would play. There were fourteen other performers he had to consider, two whose performances would come before Isabella's. He knew he had to stop thinking about the girl whose face haunted him day and night and instead concentrate on his job, for both of their sakes.

-♥-

THE DAY OF the first performance dawned bright and clear. The Opera season had kicked off with a bang the previous week, with a performance of Tchaikovsky's _Swan Lake_. The season was shaping up to be one of the Opera's best for a while and the showcase was also warranting much attention.

It was with a rueful look out the window that Isabella rushed to the final rehearsal that morning. It was to be a sound check more than anything, but the performers were required to wear their orchestra uniforms and the soloists, the clothes they would be wearing that evening.

Benjamin Seymour, an extraordinarily talented trumpeter from England, had drawn the short straw and was the very first of the young adults in the showcase to perform. At just sixteen years of age, he was the youngest of the fifteen performers and played in a great range of styles, which his performance repertoire showcased. Isabella had to admit that Philippe Cuvier had done it again.

The musicians in the showcase were certainly not enough to form a full orchestra and musicians of the Opera House's normal orchestra were required to fill out the ensemble. Isabella quite liked the other two members of her section. To her great shock, she was playing the first flute part. Maurice Chardin was the playing the second flute part and Hans Kreisler played the piccolo. While the two men were much older than her, Isabella quite enjoyed their company and the humorous jokes they told.

The performance was to open with the orchestra playing the first movement of Bach's _Brandenburg Concerto Number 2_. It still amazed Isabella how Philippe managed to find orchestral pieces that were so fitting to the entire performance.

The first piece Ben would be playing was _Sounds from the Hudson_ by Herbert Clarke. The orchestral accompaniment was beautiful and Isabella was surprised to learn that Philippe had not needed to arrange it. It was one of the rare pieces for the showcase that had actually been written for solo instrument and orchestra.

The rehearsal wrapped up an hour later after the sound technicians made sure that everything was set up correctly. And Isabella had been sure the rehearsal would have gone for another two hours if Monsieur Lachine, the conductor of the orchestra, had been allowed his way. As it was, it was only Philippe coming in and reminding the man that Benjamin needed to still have his lips for the performance that evening that allowed them to be allowed to go.

The members of the orchestra had left all of their instrument cases in the audience seating as was usual during a rehearsal. Isabella walked down the stairs of the stage into the audience area to find her case, words of greeting muttered to her by the other performers as she passed.

Finding her case, Isabella took out a cleaning cloth to clear the condensation from inside the instrument and to remove her fingerprints from its surface. So entranced with the process was she that she didn't see a figure standing over her.

"Is there anything you love more than that instrument?" a voice asked Isabella, startling her from her reverie.

Isabella looked up to see Philippe's dancing, light hazel eyes watching her, a smile crossing his face.

"I've yet to find it," she replied, smiling. "My flute is the source of my music and music is my happiness and my life."

Philippe grinned. "Well said," he replied, sitting in the seat next to her. "I must say, I quite agree."

Isabella looked at Philippe, realising that what he said was spoken in truth.

"Well," Philippe said, noticing his voice tremble slightly, "The reason I came over here was to ask you if you had any plans for dinner tonight."

The quiver in Philippe's voice went unnoticed for Isabella, however the butterflies in her stomach were a very unwanted intrusion. "Uh, no I don't," she replied nervously, hardly daring to believe what her mind was telling her.

"Well, would you like to come to a late supper after the performance this evening?" Philippe asked, wringing his hands in his lap.

Isabella smiled, realising that Philippe was just as nervous as she was. "I'd love to," she replied, the butterflies in her stomach starting to dance in excitement.

Philippe stood up, looking down at Isabella. "Well then," he said, "I'll meet you in the Opera foyer twenty minutes after the performance finishes."

Isabella nodded her approval and Philippe left, looking back at her with a smile on his face before he exited the hall.

-♥-

THE FIRST CONCERT in the showcase was a raging success. Isabella rushed to her dormitory, pushing her way through the crowd of people waiting to congratulate Benjamin as he, also, tried to make it backstage.

Isabella closed the door to her dormitory with a sigh, still holding her flute. She cleaned it and put it away and then dressed into the clothes she had laid out earlier, knowing that she wouldn't have time to choose them after the performance. With a quick check that her hair was presentable, Isabella moved out of the dormitory into the throng of people.

"Isabella, are you joining the party?" Amalie Guise asked Isabella as she tried to push her way through the multitude. The two girls had become quite good friends over the two months that Isabella had been at the Opera.

"Not tonight, Amalie," Isabella replied. "I have a previous engagement."

Amalie smiled, laughter showing on her face as she got swept up in the celebrations. "Have fun then!" she said, laughing as she was pulled away by one of the other performers.

Isabella made her way to the foyer, hampered by the amounts of people in the corridors. When she finally made it there, she found that Philippe was already in the entrance hall waiting.

Philippe saw her, happiness showing on his face. "Isabella!" he said, coming over to her. He gave her a quick hug and then offered her his arm. "Shall we?" he asked.

Isabella smiled and linked her arm with his. As they walked out the magnificent double doors, Isabella asked, "Where are we going, Philippe?"

Philippe smiled. "It's a surprise," he said cryptically.

They weren't walking for very long. They walked through the Place de l'Opera and turned onto the Boulevard Des Capucines. A little way down the long street, Philippe stopped, turning towards a beautiful little restaurant with the name _Chez Clément_ on the façade.

"Here we are," he told Isabella, leading her inside the building.

The inside was beautiful and Isabella spent a few minutes admiring the beautiful lace curtains and the paintings on the wall that made the restaurant look as though they were back in time. It was not long before the waiter was leading them to their table.

"Here you are, Mademoiselle, Monsieur," the waiter said, giving them both a menu. "Would you like something to drink?"

Philippe nodded and after a quick conference with Isabella, ordered a carafe of chardonnay. The waiter left and Isabella looked at her menu.

One look at the menu made Isabella gasp with pleasure. "English!" she said, delighted, as she looked at the dual language menu.

Philippe laughed. "I thought you'd like that," he said, smiling. "The _Chez Clément_ is always good for tourists."

It was not long before the waiter came back with their drinks and to take their orders. After he had left once again, Philippe said, "Tell me about your family. I seem to know so little about you."

Isabella laughed. "And I, you," she replied, smiling mischievously. At Philippe's smile, she started.

"Well," she said, "I was born in England, the second child of Olivier and Melissa de Chagny. I have an older brother, Claude, who is four years older than me. My father is a Vicomte, which isn't as exciting now as it would have been a hundred years ago. Nowadays, it's just a title, like Sir or Lady. It doesn't come with any land or special privileges unlike it would have done."

Philippe nodded, understanding her meaning.

Isabella continued. "My grandfather moved to England to escape France after the devastation that was the Second World War. He met my grandmother there and the de Chagny's have lived in England ever since."

"Does music run in the family, or are you a one-off?" Philippe asked, voicing a question he had had for some time.

Isabella grinned. "It runs in the family," she said. "My father is not musical, which is actually unusual for my family. My grandfather played the trumpet, he was quite good too. He was mostly interested in jazz and he went to New Orleans a few times before he married my grandmother. His father, my great-grandfather, played piano, only for fun though, he was never good enough to play professional. My great-great-grandfather played violin."

Philippe looked at Isabella. "It seems like your family was very musical," he said, amused. "Do you know of any musicians any further back in the line?"

Isabella smiled and nodded. "My great-great-great-grandmother is probably the only de Chagny who was slightly famous for her music. Before she married my great-great-great-grandfather, she sung at the Opera House where we now both work. Her career was short though – it was improper in those days for a lady of title to work and especially to sing professionally."

Philippe realised he might be getting somewhere. "Do you know her name?" he asked. "I may have heard of her."

Isabella nodded once again. "Her name was Christine de Chagny," she said, "But before she married, it was Christine Daae."

Philippe pretended to be thinking for a few minutes while his mind raced. So, Isabella _was_ related to Christine de Chagny. Philippe continued to think for a few seconds until he was interrupted.

"Have you heard of her?" Isabella asked, interested.

"N-no," Philippe replied, slightly stammering. "I can't think of any singer with that name."

Isabella nodded in understanding. "Yes, I have never heard much about her career, even though she is an ancestor of mine." Isabella smiled and looked at Philippe. "Tell me about your family now."

The arrival of their food saved Philippe from speaking, which he was grateful for. He didn't know why, but he didn't want to inform Isabella about the ties between their two families. Now was not the time.

They ate in silence for a while, savouring the beautiful meal. After they finished, they talked for the rest of the evening. Isabella seemed to have forgotten that Philippe had not told her about his family and luckily for him, the subject was not brought up again.

It was one o'clock in the morning when Isabella and Philippe finally returned to the Opera Garnier. The celebration party seemed to be slowly wrapping up.

Philippe took Isabella's hands and kissed her chastely on the cheek. "I had a good time this evening," he whispered.

Isabella smiled. "Me too," she replied.

Philippe hugged her and as he went to move to the wing where his dormitory was, he added, "We need to do this again sometime."

Isabella laughed. "That we do," she replied.

With a final look at Philippe, she moved up the stairs to her dormitory, knowing that she needed a good nights sleep to be ready for rehearsals the next day.

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**Author's note:**

Yay, another chapter uploaded! I won't say much, but I hope you enjoyed it! Oh, Benjamin is named after my trumpet playing friend, Ben, who is currently playing _Sounds from the Hudson_. And, yes, _Concerto in G Major_ by Mozart is as difficult as I say it is! Anyway, it's starting to move along now.

Finally, before I go, thank you all _soooo_ much for all the reviews. I love them, keep them coming!

Caitlin.

PS Yes, I understand that the Garnier is now unused when it comes to opera (which moved to the Bastille) and it is only really used for ballet now, but for the purpose of this story, I'm going to pretend that there are still operas performed there.


	4. Chapter 3

"**_Love Comes To Those Who Wait_"**

**By Nabira**

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**CHAPTER 3**

ISABELLA'S HANDS SHOOK with nerves as she listened to the orchestra play _The Moldau_ from the backstage area. Her night had arrived and in less than two minutes time, she would be joining her fellow musicians on stage. She was still kicking herself over letting Philippe convince her to begin with Mozart's insanely difficult concerto. She had never performed something of that calibre in public before so it was very understandable that she was nervous.

The public's applause made Isabella's blood run cold and, hearing the announcement that she was to join the orchestra on stage, Isabella made her way to the front. If it was possible, what frightened her more about the showcase than playing in it was the fact that she had to do her own announcing.

With a slight nod to the conductor, the orchestra began to play, leaving Isabella to wait for the introduction to be completed before she began her performance.

Due to her nerves, the introduction seemed to go forever, though in truth it only went for a minute. Isabella was so nervous she could not even listen to the beauty of the orchestra as it played. As the introduction drew to a close, Isabella took a deep breath, her first notes beautiful and melodious.

As she played she sunk into the music, forgetting the sold out audience of over two thousand people. However, she was still nervous and it showed in her playing, her vibrato slightly too much for a piece of Mozart's era.

In the first break, Isabella took a deep breath to calm her anxiety. The next phrase was free of the uneasy vibrato and she congratulated herself silently. Very quickly after that, it seemed, Isabella was playing the cadenza, the orchestra silent behind her. The difficult runs finished with a trill and the orchestra entered for the final time, playing the closing phrases.

The audience erupted into applause and Isabella bowed, a grin on her face. Somehow, she had just played the hardest piece in her repertoire for the evening and the nine minutes that the piece had lasted for had just flown by.

She placed her flute on the flute stand and walked over to the microphone stand to the left of the stage. Picking up the microphone, she said, "Welcome, ladies and gentleman, to the third performance in the Youth Showcase series." Isabella paused, a smile on her face. "My name is Isabella de Chagny and I am a flautist from England."

A scattering of polite applause followed and Isabella continued. "The piece I just played was called _Concerto Number 1 in G Major_ and was written by Mozart." She moved toward the conductor and said, "I would like to introduce the conductor for this evening, Monsieur Édouard Jouvet and, of course, the Youth Orchestra, which is made up of other youths from the Showcase and is completed by musicians from the Opera House's orchestra." More applause followed and Isabella smiled, glad that she would soon be able to play again. "The next piece I am going to play for you today is called _Arabesque_ by Debussy."

The beautiful strains of the opening reached her ears and Isabella lifted her flute to her mouth and began to play. Once again, she lost herself in the music, giving it her all. Every piece that followed was the same and it was not long before an hour had passed and interval was upon them.

Isabella was glad to get off the stage and into her dressing room to change her clothes. As she got into the room and closed the door, she collapsed onto the couch, wanting to stay there and not go back onto the stage. But after five minutes of just sitting and staring into space, Isabella knew she had to get changed. Interval only went for twenty minutes.

Ten minutes later, she was ready and waiting to go back on stage. Interestingly enough, she had not seen Philippe this evening. He had been around the backstage area on all of the concerts so far. Isabella felt a sharp pang in her stomach and hoped with a passion that he would not miss her finale.

The second half passed quickly enough with beautiful performances of _Meditation de Thais_ by Massenet and another one of Debussy's pieces, _Clair de Lune_. Finally it was time for her finale and as Isabella moved to the microphone she saw a slight movement from the boxes above. Taking a deep breathe, she said to the audience, "I will be finishing with a piece written by another extraordinary youth musician. The composer has arranged all of the pieces that have been used in all fifteen showcases. So, I would like to present to you _La Puissance de la Musique_ by Philippe Cuvier."

The piece Philippe had written had been composed especially for Isabella and she loved it immensely. The piece changed tempo and feeling many times and showed off the flute's flashy high register, but also showcased the beautiful, melodious low notes that the instrument was capable of.

Isabella put every ounce of feeling that she could muster into the piece and, as she bowed and the audience stood to give her a standing ovation, she couldn't help but think that Philippe would have to be awfully proud of her after that performance.

Ten minutes later, Isabella was wishing to be back onstage. At least then she could escape the congratulations of the people who were milling around backstage.

A sigh of relief reached her lips as she finally made it to her dormitory. The craziness of the world outside could not reach her in the calm solitude of the dressing room and she calmed considerably as she cleaned her flute and got changed into ordinary clothes.

The dormitories of the Opera were not like the original dormitories had been. They only housed one person and doubled as dressing rooms for the performers. Likewise, most of the dressing rooms had changed into dormitories, save for the few that were used for the performers that did not live at the Opera.

Unlike the last two after parties, Isabella would not be able to get out of this one. So, resignedly, she exited her dormitory, closing the door behind her. And straight away, she was swept up by more people wanting to congratulate her.

"Isabella, you were fantastic!" Amalie cried, pushing a glass of champagne into her hand as she embraced her tightly. The grin on Amalie's face was contagious and she added to her, "I have _never_ heard you play so well! The music just filled you today!"

Isabella was not going to be able to just talk to Amalie, however. It was not long before Michaela Arthurs, a bassoon player, and Lorenzo Togliatti, an oboe player, removed her from Amalie's care and brought her over to talk to some of the other players from the showcase. However, the one person she really wanted to speak with was suspiciously absent.

-♥-

IT WAS TWO hours later when Isabella was finally able to return to her dormitory. The party was wrapping up much earlier as many of the showcase musicians were filling in for other musicians in the Opera's orchestra. Rehearsals for Saturday night's ballet started very early the next morning. Isabella, however, was not required for the performance of _Romeo and Juliet_ and she was looking forward to a day of relaxing.

She entered the dormitory and was about to get changed into her nightdress when a knock at the door stopped her. Curiously, she opened the door and found the familiar face of Philippe looking back at her.

"Are you up to anything, Isabella?" he asked, cocking his head to one side in question.

Isabella shook her head.

"Good," Philippe replied, extending his hand for Isabella to take. She stepped forward and took his hand, closing the door behind her.

Isabella did not know where they were going, but Philippe obviously did. He led her along the corridors of the Garnier, pausing to check that there was no one watching them at each corner. With every passing moment, Isabella became more confused. She was being led into a section of the Opera House that she had never been into before.

Philippe gripped Isabella's hand tightly, suddenly, and she found herself standing in front of a door at the end of a corridor. With a quick look around, Philippe quickly opened the door and ushered Isabella in quickly.

They were standing in an old, unused dressing room. The walls were a pale pink and the room was empty, other than a large mirror on the far side of the room. "What are we doing here?" Isabella asked inquisitively.

"This room is thought to be haunted," Philippe said, cocking an eyebrow at Isabella's scepticism. "It hasn't been used since its occupant disappeared in 1880."

"Why are we here then?" Isabella asked, watching Philippe move toward the mirror.

Philippe smiled. "I'm going to show you why everyone thinks it's haunted," he replied, pushing on the mirror.

Isabella's eyes widened in shock as the mirror opened, revealing an old passageway. Philippe put his hand out for Isabella once again and she took it, following him into the dark.

It wasn't far down the lane when Isabella noticed that there was very little light. Philippe seemed to have noticed too, because he grabbed a lantern from a hidden holder on the wall and, scraping it along the ground, lit it in one swipe. Isabella's grip on Philippe's hand tightened with apprehension as they continued the walk down the cold, dank path.

Isabella understood the dampness as they came into a large opening in the tunnel. A humongous subterranean lake was apparent and something stirred in her subconscious as she looked at it. However, the whisper of a thought disappeared as Philippe led her towards a small boat, floating on the lake's surface.

Isabella didn't dare touch the water as they glided along, Philippe standing behind her as he steered. It looked toxic, the aqueous substance kissing the side of the boat, lulling her to take a dip in it. She looked away, not wanting to become hypnotised by its soft caress. She was relieved when they reached the other side and quickly jumped from the boat to be away from the water.

Philippe secured the boat and, taking her hand again, led her through a door into the house on the other side.

The hidden thought surfaced again and, slowly, Isabella managed to click two and two together. She knew exactly where she was as she looked around the underground lair. She was where her ancestor had been over a hundred years before. She was in the Phantom's lair.

Philippe watched the realisation dawning on Isabella's face and he suddenly understood that she did indeed know the story of the Phantom of the Opera.

"I've brought you here," Philippe said, looking at the old, moth bitten furnishings in the room, "To tell you about my family's history." Philippe sighed, as if weighing up what to say. "You asked me if I had heard of your ancestor, Christine Daae," he said, looking at Isabella directly. At her nod, he continued, "Well, I lied. I have heard of Christine Daae. She is what led me to the Opera."

Philippe could tell by the look on her face that Isabella was confused. With a sigh, Philippe said, "She was a very close acquaintance of my great-great-grandfather. And, as you can guess," he said, gesturing to the room around them, "He was the Phantom of the Opera."

Isabella did indeed understand. "Christine's Angel of Music," she said breathlessly. At Philippe's nod, she smiled. "His name was Erik, wasn't it?" she asked Philippe.

Philippe was shocked. "How did you know?" he asked.

Isabella smiled. "Christine spoke of her Angel of Music in her journal and, later, a man named Erik. I linked them together."

"It's ironic, isn't it, how we've met?" Philippe said, grinning.

Isabella laughed. "Yes," she said, looking at Philippe. "Wasn't Erik deformed?"

Philippe nodded. "Yes," he replied, a sad look on his face.

Isabella frowned. "Has the deformity appeared again in your family?" she asked. Seeing Philippe start, she said quickly, "I mean, you're not, but I was just wondering if anyone else had been."

Philippe looked at the ground. "My father had the same deformity," he said, looking up into Isabella's eyes. "It wasn't as bad as Erik's, from what I understand, the entire right-hand side of his face was deformed; Dad only had part of his forehead deformed." Philippe smiled and, with a laugh, added, "It just meant he wore his hair slightly longer."

Isabella smiled and hugged Philippe. "I'm glad to find about your family," she said, taking his hand once again. "It just makes everything that much more special."

Philippe put his arm around Isabella's shoulders and led her from the rundown lair and back into the real world above them.

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**Author's note:**

Thanks for the reviews everyone! It's so exciting having my e-mail full of reviews the day after uploading a chapter.

Tomorrow is my last day of school for the term (only two and a half more weeks of school for the year, then exams!) so I _hopefully_ should be able to update more. Obviously, I have heaps of revision though, so please don't expect stacks!

Other than that, I hope you like!

Cate.


	5. Chapter 4

"**_Love Comes To Those Who Wait_"**

**By Nabira**

I guess I should probably add a disclaimer, as I keep forgetting to do so. I do not own Phantom of the Opera, unless you include owning three Phantom books, two DVDs, two CDs and a Phantom plushie. However, I do own the plot, Philippe (yay! At least that's almost like owning Erik!), Isabella and other original characters.

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**CHAPTER 4**

THE FIRST QUARTER of the Opera House season passed far too quickly for Isabella. They were rehearsing for the twelfth performance in the Youth Showcase and Samantha Robertson, an astounding viola player, was on stage, listening to what Monsieur Jouvet had to say and rolling her eyes at Isabella when he finally directed his complaints to the violin section of the orchestra. Isabella quite liked Samantha – she was a funny, down-to-earth girl who got along with everyone. But at the moment she was trying to signal to Samantha to stop pulling faces at her. Cracking up with laughter would only make Jouvet focus on her and she wanted to escape his bad temper today.

An hour later and they were finally off stage. As Isabella moved into the audience area to get her case, she wished Samantha goodluck as she passed her. The girl's face split into a grin and she embraced Isabella, thanking her. As Isabella walked off, she wished she had some of Samantha's energy – she would give her eye-teeth to not show her nervousness before a big performance.

A very welcome sight was awaiting her at her flute case. Philippe Cuvier sat there, Isabella's case on his lap, smiling at her.

"Hello, Philippe," Isabella said, beaming with pleasure. "What are you doing down here today?"

"Listening," he replied. "Monsieur Jouvet was in a bad mood today."

Isabella laughed. "Isn't he always?" she asked cheekily.

Philippe laughed, the musical sound echoing throughout the hall. Cocking an eyebrow at Isabella, he said, "Did you know the Opera has its annual Masquerade Ball next week?"

Isabella nodded. "Yes," she replied. "I think I'm going to go out and escape it. I hate crowds."

"Really?" he asked, curious. "I didn't know that," he murmured, half to himself. Looking at Isabella, he asked, "Would you go if I was there?"

Isabella sighed. "Philippe, even though I hate crowds, you _know_ I'd do anything to spend some time with you."

Philippe smiled. "Will you go with me to the Masquerade Ball, then, Isabella?"

Isabella smiled in return. "Of course," she replied.

-♥-

ISABELLA STOOD IN her dormitory the following Saturday, trying to tame her wild hair. She really needed a haircut. In four months, her shoulder length curls had grown down to the middle of her back, a good five inches. She had never had hair that long before and she was beginning to find it unmanageable. She didn't know how Amalie managed to keep her long hair so beautiful.

Giving up, Isabella pinned her hair back from her face, leaving most of the curls to trail down her back. Putting on her makeup she looked at herself fully in the mirror.

Isabella had decided on a bright red evening dress with a matching red mask. Her dark hair and red lips finished the ensemble perfectly and Isabella was happy with how she looked for the evening.

Looking at her watch, she decided to move outside into the foyer to meet up with Philippe. There was still a quarter of an hour before the masquerade was due to start, but Philippe had asked Isabella if she could be early as he had a surprise for her.

So, five minutes later, Isabella stood in the entrance foyer, waiting for Philippe. At least the foyer was interesting. There was a new painting she hadn't seen before and as she looked at it, a hand covered her mouth, stifling her cry.

"Beware the Phantom of the Opera," a voice whispered in her ear and Isabella spun around to see Philippe in his costume.

Philippe was dressed in evening clothes from the nineteenth century. He wore a starched white shirt with black pants and a black coat with tails. The long black cape was made of the most beautiful cloth with a dark red lining on the inside. But the thing that astonished Isabella the most was the white porcelain half-mask that he wore. Suddenly she understood Philippe's comment. Christine had written a description of the Phantom into her diary and she knew that if Christine was still alive, she probably would have thought Philippe to be a splitting image of the man she once knew.

"Oh my goodness," Isabella whispered, smiling at Philippe. "Where did you get that?" she asked, gesturing at the mask.

Philippe smiled. "I found it in a bunch of family heirlooms a while ago," he replied, taking Isabella's hand. "I thought about it the other day and decided that it would be a fantastic idea for the masquerade – dressing up as my ancestor at the place where he once used to haunt."

Isabella laughed. "Yes, it is a great idea," she said. "Though I'm afraid I'm the only one who knows the story."

Philippe smiled mischievously. "No you're not," he replied. "Everyone else might not realise it, but there are many signs of Erik still around. The dressing room we went into the night I showed you the lair belonged to your great-great-great-grandmother, I believe, and it is there Erik first met her. That room isn't used now because it is said to be haunted. Box Five is never sold and, from what I have learnt, that belonged to Erik. So there are many signs of him still around."

"I never realised that," Isabella replied, taking Philippe's hand. "I don't think he ever would have realised that he would still have so much influence here, one hundred and twenty or so years later."

Philippe squeezed Isabella's hand. "It's nice that he does though."

There were many other people arriving now and Isabella saw many people that she knew from the showcase gathering in the foyer. As the doors to the ballroom finally opened, Isabella and Philippe hung back, trying to escape the crush of the mass entering. They were the last to enter, which suited Isabella nicely. She was glad she had Philippe by her to protect her, because seeing the crowd that was already in there by herself would have sent her running in the other direction.

The ballroom looked lovely. It was decorated in golds and silvers and instead of the opera's full orchestra performing, a small chamber orchestra was playing. Isabella knew that the musicians in the orchestra would be rotating throughout the evening so that they would all be able to join in the festivities.

Philippe swept Isabella out onto the floor, his strong arms holding her tightly. Philippe was a very good dancer and as they waltzed around the floor, the strains of the violin reached her, making her forget about the crowds around her and only concentrate on the beautiful music and the man she was dancing with.

They danced for a while and after a few dances started to become a bit hot and thirsty. Moving off the dance floor, Philippe went to get drinks and Isabella stood at the edge of the floor awkwardly. However, someone had noticed that Isabella was by herself and it was not long before Samantha Robertson was saying hello.

"Why are you here by yourself, Isabella?" Samantha asked, standing next to her.

"Oh, I'm waiting for Philippe to get drinks," Isabella replied. Samantha looked beautiful. Her long hair was pinned up in a French roll and she wore a beautiful blue evening dress adorned with sequins on the bodice. Her mask matched her dress and she held it on a stick.

"Ah," Samantha replied, winking at Isabella. "Philippe, huh?"

Isabella rolled her eyes. Samantha had been teasing her something chronic since she had realised that the pair were slightly more than friends. "Well, what about you and Louis?" she asked, speaking of the tuba player from the showcase that Samantha had become very good friends with.

Samantha rolled her eyes. "We're just _friends_, Isabella," she said exasperatedly, looking at Isabella as though she should know better.

Isabella sighed. She quite liked the viola player. She was only two months younger than Isabella and, along with Amalie, had become very good friends. Samantha liked to tease though and thought Isabella was an easy target, which, in all honesty, Isabella knew she was.

They were interrupted by the arrival of Philippe, who held a champagne glass in either hand. "Hello, Samantha," he said, passing a glass to Isabella. "Do you want one?"

Samantha shook her head. "No, no, Philippe," she replied, laughing slightly. "I need to be up early tomorrow, I'm not drinking this evening."

Philippe nodded. "I think you're the only one that will be up tomorrow," he said, smiling. "At least you're dedicated."

Samantha laughed. "No, just crazy," she replied, smiling as usual. "Anyway, I must leave you two alone," she said, giving Isabella a slight nudge with her elbow. "Have fun!"

The couple watched the vivacious girl move off, chatting with people as she moved around the room. Samantha was one of those people that was friends with everyone.

After they had finished their drinks, Isabella and Philippe moved out onto the floor again, dancing to each piece of music that was played. After an hour of dancing, Isabella was hot and beginning to get tired. As the fast and lively jig finished, Isabella managed to pull Philippe from the floor, saying that she needed some fresh air.

The courtyard was strangely empty. Thankfully, there were no crowds to annoy her and she could cool down and get the fresh air she wanted.

Isabella sat down on the edge of the fountain, the fairy lights twinkling in the trees behind her.

Philippe sat down next to her, taking off the porcelain mask and holding it in his hands. For a while the pair sat their in silence, just enjoying each other's company. The night was unusually warm and Isabella reached behind her, dangling her fingers in the water. As the cool liquid ran over her fingers, she had an idea. Narrowing her eyes mischievously, she flicked the water at Philippe, hitting him on his now-exposed cheek.

Philippe jumped up almost comically, dropping the white mask, his cry making Isabella giggle with glee as she watched him wiping off the water that now dribbled down his neck. Glaring at Isabella, he said roguishly, "I am going to get you."

Isabella squealed and jumped from her seat on the edge of the fountain, as far away from the water as possible.

Philippe had no intention of getting Isabella wet, but he didn't let her know that. For a while they moved around on opposite sides of the fountain, Isabella trying her hardest to stay away from him. However, a noise started her and Isabella turned, forgetting about Philippe. Quickly he darted behind her, grabbing her around her waist.

Isabella had not expected Philippe to grab her and she gasped, turning in his grip to face him.

As she looked into Philippe's golden eyes, Isabella's breath caught in her throat, not able to remove him from her sight. His chest was hard and warm against her and his scent filled her nostrils, making her feel giddy in his arms.

Philippe looked down into Isabella's chocolate brown eyes, feeling himself drowning in their depths. She felt soft and supple in his arms and Philippe cautiously lowered his head to catch Isabella's lips with his own.

The firm press of Philippe's lips against her own made Isabella feel as though she would faint, though it was the best feeling in the world. It felt right having him kiss her, as though it was her destiny to have him hold her. She didn't even realise she had put her arms around his neck as he kissed her.

Philippe straightened slowly, pulling out of the kiss, Isabella still pressed against him. Sighing, he whispered, "I think we should go back inside, mon amour."

Philippe moved back to the fountain and picked up the mask which was, thankfully, undamaged. Putting it back on he put out his arms to call Isabella over. Putting his arm around her, he held her close to him as they walked out of the courtyard to rejoin the party inside.

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**Author's note:**

Just a little bit of fluff for you all. I have decided that for this chapter I need to do a chapter dedication and that dedication goes to Jeeves, as it is her grand debut in my story. Thanks Jeeves for being with me since I wrote _A Man of the Future_ and I hope you continue to read my stories.

Oh and after responses that people would like to hear some of the pieces that Isabella (and other characters) played, I have started creating a website (as if I have nothing else better to do!) where you will be able to download (if I can get it to work) or find links so that you can hear these pieces of music. I should have it finished by the time I do my next update.

Speak to you all soon.

Caitlin.


	6. Chapter 5

"**_Love Comes To Those Who Wait_"**

**By Nabira**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Phantom of the Opera (unfortunately), that belongs to Gaston Leroux. There's a teeny bit of Kay in this chapter (see if you can spot it!) and I don't own that either. I do own Philippe, Isabella, Father Guierre, Claude, Olivier, Isabella's mother (I can't remember what her name is!) and any other original character. Oh, and I own the plot too.

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**CHAPTER 5**

THE NEXT FEW weeks passed by in a flurry of activity. Isabella hardly saw Philippe as he was busy with the few finishing touches on his arrangements for the final few showcase players and Isabella was busy with putting together the details for her trip to England during the month break in November.

If there was one time where she didn't want to go back to England, it was now. She would have much preferred to spend a month with Philippe travelling around France, getting to know the country, than getting on the Eurostar to travel back to the boring old Manor in London.

But unfortunately, her father had requested her presence in London and Isabella could not disobey.

The evening before Isabella left for London, she and Philippe walked through the streets of Paris, enjoying the sights. The entire staff of the Opera Populaire would be leaving in the morning for the month break and while Isabella knew she should probably be using this time to pack, she would much prefer to spend it with Philippe.

Hand in hand they once again walked down the Boulevard des Capucines, neither of them talking, just enjoying each others company. It wasn't long before they got to the Madeline and they stopped on the other side of the road, admiring the beautiful Greek architecture.

"I can't believe it's a church," Isabella whispered to Philippe, the feeling that radiated from the place making her feel it was wrong to talk in more than a murmur.

"Have you ever been inside?" Philippe asked, his voice also low and soft.

Isabella shook her head. Philippe smiled. Giving Isabella's hand a squeeze, he led her across the street and up the stairs to the front door of the building.

The front doors were beautiful and Isabella admired the bas reliefs that signified the Ten Commandments. The interior was just as beautiful and behind the altar was a large statue that showed the ascension of Mary Magdalene. What really caught Isabella's attention, however, was the magnificent pipe organ.

Philippe saw what she was staring at and whispered in her ear, "They still use that for concerts, you know."

Philippe left Isabella staring at it and moved off into another part of the church. It wasn't long before he returned with the priest, the pair talking as though they were old friends. Philippe looked at Isabella and asked, "Do you want to hear the organ?"

Isabella nodded excitedly and Philippe sat down in front of it, launching almost instantly into Bach's _Fantasia and Fugue in G minor_.

The organ's huge sound surrounded her and she watched Philippe's hands effortlessly move across the keys. The priest stood there smiling and Isabella got the feeling that he somehow knew Philippe. As Philippe finished the Fantasia and launched into the Fugue, the priest closed his eyes, letting the music surround him.

As he finished the piece, both Isabella and the priest jumped into applause and Philippe grinned self consciously.

"It is nice to hear you play again, my boy," the priest said to Philippe, walking over to shake his hand. "I did not know you were in Paris again."

Philippe smiled. "I'm currently working at the Opera House, which is where I met Isabella de Chagny," he said, gesturing for Isabella to move forward. "Isabella, this is Father Guierre, who runs the Madeline."

Isabella smiled and shook the priest's hand. "It is nice to meet you, Monsieur."

The priest smiled. "And you, Mademoiselle," he replied, his face jolly and round. He was a short, slightly chubby man with short grey hair that lay flat on his scalp. Isabella guessed him to be perhaps sixty years old.

Philippe took Isabella's hand and looked at Father Guierre. "We must be off, Father, I apologise."

The priest nodded his head. "I understand," he replied. Looking at Philippe sternly, he said, "I expect to see you in mass, young man, very shortly."

Philippe nodded sheepishly and he and Isabella left, Isabella giggling slightly at the way Philippe had simply obeyed the priest. She had never known him to act like that with anyone.

As they walked back to the Garnier, Isabella asked, "How do you know Father Guierre?"

"The Madeline was my family's church when we lived in Paris," he replied. "My mother is stoutly religious, so we went to mass every Sunday, much to my father's chagrin. I'm not very religious either, so I've stayed away from the Madeline for as long as I can, but my determination to play the organ again has ended that and I'll be expected now to attend mass for as long as I'm in Paris."

Isabella giggled, knowing that Philippe would not be happy having a couple of hours taken from his Sunday to attend mass. "How long ago was it that you lived in Paris?" she asked.

"I was born in Paris," Philippe said. "We moved to the countryside when I was 17, so that was seven years ago. I must say, it was strange leaving the city, but the countryside is much more pleasant."

Isabella smiled in understanding. They walked along silently for a while again and it was not long before they got back to the Garnier.

"I probably won't see you tomorrow as you're leaving early," Philippe said to Isabella, "So I'll say this now. Have a good, _safe_ trip; have fun visiting with your family, and I'll see you soon."

Isabella smiled and hugged Philippe tightly. In return, he placed a light kiss on her head and they stood like that for a few minutes, in the foyer of the Opera. Finally, they parted company, and with a final look at Philippe, Isabella walked up the stairs to her dormitory.

-♥-

ISABELLA'S BROTHER, CLAUDE, met her at the Waterloo station at ten o'clock the next morning. After spending three hours on the train, she was glad to get off.

In the car on their way back to the family home, Isabella chatted constantly about her time in Paris. Claude laughed with her about the funny stories that had happened and was very interested in the pieces she had played, but seemed the most interested when Isabella told him about Philippe.

When they got to the Manor, Isabella grabbed her luggage and quickly carried it up to her bedroom, dumping it on the floor. She then returned to the living room where she found Claude talking to her father.

She kissed her father hello and as she moved to the other side of the room to sit on the adjacent couch, her father looked at her curiously.

"What is this I hear about a boyfriend?" he asked.

Isabella glared at Claude. She had wanted to tell her father herself. Sighing, she said, "His name is Philippe Cuvier. He's a composer working on the Showcase and he also plays piano." Isabella stopped. She had been about to talk of his family's connection to their own, but decided at the last minute that that wouldn't have been a good idea.

"Is he from a good family?" Olivier de Chagny asked, making Isabella feel as though she was eleven years old again.

"Yes, Papa," she replied. "They are a good Christian family and his father owns his own business which Philippe will one day inherit. He has good morals and is a nice person on top of it all."

Olivier sighed. "All right then, Bella," he replied. "Tell me how Paris is."

-♥-

IT WAS NOT long before Isabella was wishing to go back to Paris. Her father had stopped asking questions about Philippe altogether and while her mother asked the usual ones such as 'What does he look like?' and 'How old is he?', she too didn't annoy Isabella too much. However, Claude would not let up. Every day he seemed to ask more and more questions about Philippe and Isabella knew that he was trying to catch her off guard. He believed she was lying about everything she had told them about Philippe and tried at every opportunity to get the 'truth'.

Isabella spent a lot of time, therefore, in the attic, escaping Claude. He would not come up there because he said he was 'allergic to the dust' (Isabella preferred to say that he was a wimp) so Isabella had a lot of time to herself. Most of that time she spent searching through boxes, trying to find things that had belonged to Christine Daae and hoping that she might come across something that had belonged to Erik.

It was two weeks after she had first arrived that Isabella found something worthwhile. In one of the oldest boxes, Isabella found exactly what she had been looking for. It was a double picture frame with two portraits inside it. One was a man who looked extremely like Philippe, the other a woman, who looked like Isabella. However, Isabella knew that this could not be Erik. He wore no mask and he had no blemish on his face. The piece of paper that fell out of the frame explained the two identities, however.

_His parents. His mother looks extremely like me, perhaps the reason he turned to me in the first place. His father is what he would have looked like, I believe, if he had not been deformed._

_Rescued from the underground lair during one of his tempers. I didn't want to see it ruined._

Isabella picked up the frame and put it in the bag she had brought up with her. She would return it to Philippe; it rightfully belonged in his hands.

She spent the rest of the day still searching but didn't find another thing that was a part of the mystery surrounding Erik and Christine. The diary and photo frame were enough and would return to Paris with her in two weeks time.

-♥-

WHILE PHILIPPE MISSED Isabella dreadfully, he was glad that she wasn't there because it meant he could organise his surprise quite easily without prying eyes.

No one was supposed to be in the Opera House during the month break, but Philippe had learnt of an alternative entrance to the building through Rue Scribe. It led straight into the underground lair, the place where Philippe would be spending most of his time in the next month. He intended to restore the place to its former glory as a surprise for Isabella.

He had a lot of work ahead of him, however. Everything in the house had to go – wood rotted in such a damp climate – and the house itself also needed to be restored thanks to the moisture. So, the first few days were spent clearing the house of all remaining possessions. While some went straight to the dump, Philippe knew that some could be salvaged. There was a lot of sheet music that had been left in the lair and while it had become damaged by water, it was still readable. Philippe decided to take this back to the apartment he was renting, along with a few other trinkets that he had found.

A few weeks later, the lair was just about ready to refurnish, but Philippe knew that it would have to wait. Isabella was to get back the next day and he did not want her to find out about the surprise until it was completely finished.

With one final look around the now sparkling lair, Philippe left through the Rue Scribe entrance and walked through Paris back to his apartment.

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**Author's note:**

I'm sorry! But at the moment, school has to come first.

I graduated on Wednesday (today is Saturday), I had my first exam last Tuesday (music solo performance, I played the first movement of Bach's _Sonata No. 2 in Eb_, Faure's _Sicilienne_ and the fifth movement of _Cinq Pieces Breves_ by Mouquet and didn't do too badly, but didn't play as well as I normally do) and the written exams start on Monday. My first one isn't until Thursday (Maths Studies), then I have Biology on Monday, Chemistry on Wednesday, Specialist Maths on Friday and finally Music the following Wednesday. So, only three weeks to go!

I took some time out from revision this morning (it's only chem, I'm good at chem!) to write this chapter, so be proud of me. Please review – reviews are good for me at the moment. I need all the encouragement I can get.

Anyway, the next chapter might be a while, but we'll see.

Caitlin.


	7. Chapter 6

"**_Love Comes To Those Who Wait_"**

**By Nabira**

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**CHAPTER 6**

ISABELLA WAS VERY happy to be back at the Opera House at the end of November. Claude and his infernal questions were beginning to get on her nerves and Isabella missed Philippe immensely. She had only spoken to him twice since the beginning of the holidays – she had missed him nearly every time she had rung, and the same had occurred with him.

Curiously, however, Isabella could not locate Philippe anywhere in the vicinity of the Opera House. She searched everywhere she could think of that he might be, but after checking his office for the third time, she had come to the conclusion that Philippe was not at the Garnier.

Sighing sadly, Isabella returned to her dormitory. _Where could Philippe be?_ she thought to herself.

Isabella was sitting down on her bed to pine for Philippe when a knock came at the door. Thinking it was the very person she had been looking for, Isabella threw herself at the door, opening it quickly.

She was surprised, however, by Monsieur Noverre standing at the door. "Monsieur," she stammered, as she recovered quickly from her disappointment. "What can I do for you?"

"Mademoiselle Chagny," he said, "I have come to ask a favour."

"Yes?" Isabella replied expectantly.

"Maurice Chardin has been given some time off over the Christmas break as his wife is about to have their first child," he informed her calmly. "We need another flute player to cover him while he is away and I was wondering if you would consent to do it."

Isabella didn't have to think about it for long. "Certainly," she replied. "How many performances are there?"

"Five," Noverre replied. "Two the week before Christmas, one on the twenty-second, one on Christmas Eve and one on Christmas night."

"Okay," Isabella replied, excited about the Christmas performances. "When are rehearsals?"

"They start tomorrow," said Noverre. "Nine am, on the dot."

Isabella grinned. "Great!" she replied. "I'll be there tomorrow."

"Thank you, Mademoiselle de Chagny," Noverre said as backed away from the door. "I'll let you get back to your unpacking, now."

Isabella shut the door and decided to use Noverre's idea. She somehow had gained a lot of stuff while in England and although she felt too lazy to unpack at this moment, it would give her something to do.

An hour later, after Isabella had finished all of her unpacking with still no sign of Philippe, she decided to once again go looking for the elusive man. _I bet his great-great-grandfather wasn't _this_ hard to put up with_, Isabella thought with a giggle as she left her dormitory.

She still had no idea where Philippe might be and so headed back to his office hoping to find him there. She wasn't watching where she was going, however, and as she turned the corner that led to the office, she walked straight into a hard, muscular chest.

"I'm so sorry," she stammered, but as she looked up into the tall man's face, her eyes lit up with joy. "Philippe!" she cried, wrapping her arms around him.

Philippe laughed, his musical voice filling the room. "I've missed you, Bella," he said, a smile splitting his face.

"Where have you been?" Isabella asked, stepping back from Philippe. "I've been looking all over for you."

"I've been around," he replied, his eyes not quite meeting hers. "We've probably just missed each other every single time."

Isabella didn't catch the slight untruth, but Philippe did feel guilty nonetheless. He truly _had_ been around, though he knew that Isabella would never have thought to look in the bowls of the Opera House. But Philippe contented himself with the thought that Isabella _would_ find out what he was up to at Christmas.

"What have you been up to on your break?" he asked, leading her back to his office.

"Fighting with my brother most of the time," Isabella replied. "He's twenty-three years old, yet half the time he acts as though he's five!"

Philippe laughed. "And I bet Miss Nearly Nineteen spent half of her time rising to his bait and then acting as though she was only two!" he teased.

"That's not nice!" Isabella said, laughing. Philippe unlocked the door to his office and stood back to allow her to enter first. Isabella, however, stopped dead.

"I have something for you," she said at Philippe's curious look. "Stay here, _don't move_, I'll go and get it."

Philippe knew that Isabella wasn't joking and so he stood there, with the door half open, waiting for her to return. She was back in less than five minutes, carrying a plastic bag. She grinned at Philippe as she made her way through the door, sitting down on the couch while he shut the door.

"To escape from Claude while at home, I spent a lot of time in our attic," she said, smiling. "I found this, which I believe should belong to you." Isabella passed him the double picture frame, which Philippe immediately opened and gasped at the pictures inside. "Apparently it belonged to Erik," she explained. "There was a piece of paper inside it that Christine must have wrote, that explained that it was Erik's parents and that she 'rescued' it during one of Erik's temper tantrums."

Philippe was speechless and Isabella could understand why. Suddenly he had a tiny part of his family's history, a history that he had only ever known to go back to Erik. Isabella, on the other hand, had aristocratic heritage stretching back for a good ten generations at least.

"The other thing I have," Isabella said after Philippe had recovered, "Is Christine's diary. You might want to read it."

"Thank you, Isabella," Philippe said. "This means so much to me."

Isabella smiled. She was simply content that she had made Philippe happy.

-♥-

DECEMBER PASSED IN a blur, including Isabella's birthday. Her nineteenth was a quiet affair, including phone calls from family in the morning and dinner that evening with Philippe. Suddenly, however, she was on the fourth of five performances and ready to finish the Christmas performances.

The Christmas Eve performance was the busiest out of all the concerts Isabella had done as a part of the Opera Orchestra. It seemed to Isabella that going to the Populaire for the Christmas festivities was a tradition in many families, something that Philippe agreed with. After finding out that Isabella was to be a part of the performance, he had booked one of the boxes for all five performances.

Isabella could see him from her place on the stage and his presence calmed her. But she was around some of the most accomplished musicians in the world and felt quite embarrassed that she could be reduced to nerves in front of these amazing people.

The performance finished and fifteen minutes later, Isabella was moving back to her dormitory. She got a fright, however, when she found the man sitting on her bed, his golden eyes shining in the slight darkness.

"Philippe, you scared me!" Isabella said, laughing. Philippe smiled.

"I have a surprise for you," he told her, holding out his hand for her to take.

Philippe led her down the corridors and once again into the disused dressing room, pushing open the mirror and ushering her through.

Once again, they walked down the Old Commune Road, but this time it did not seem as scary. The lake, while it was still dark and treacherous, did not have that toxic quality it had once had.

Philippe moored the boat on the other side and helped Isabella out, his actions as gentle as a lamb. He paused, cheekily smiling at Isabella before he opened the door.

Isabella gasped. The lair, which had once been in a desperatestate of disrepair, now gleamed. The mahogany furniture was new and polished until it shined. There were new carpets, a new couch and a magnificent black piano sat in the middle of the main room, the feature of the area.

Philippe and Isabella sat on the couch, Isabella staring in wonder at the transformed abode and Philippe telling her exactly what had been changed. It wasn't until Philippe felt the firm press of Isabella's head on his shoulder and her gentle breath on his neck that he stopped. He didn't want to wake her.

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**Author's Note:**

Very sorry about the long wait for an update, I had no idea how to start this chapter! Then I got stuck in the middle.

Good news is I have finished exams. Bad news is I go away in a week's time. But it's only for a week. I'm hoping to try and get a lot done on my stories in that time – both the ones that are half published and the ones that are in planning.

I am really looking forward to trying out the new 'reply to reviews' so please review!

Catch you all later,

Caitlin.


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